


Trope Bingo

by Anjali_Organna



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Cliche, Draco Malfoy in exile, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter AU, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sexytimes, Time Travel, Tropes, fun with vibrating body parts, no really, no-chill Barry Allen, oh-no-they're-hot, thirsty af Barry Allen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6271831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjali_Organna/pseuds/Anjali_Organna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots prominently featuring cliched/overused plotlines because everybody loves the fake boyfriend trope and the stuck-in-a-closet trope and the oh-no-he's-hot trope, okay?</p><p>[Chapter 12: The one with the sex talk. Spoilers for 3x10.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The revealing outfit causes brainsplosion trope

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr @theopensea but I figured I should probably put them here too. Tropes for everyone! There will likely be more of these because I'm predictable like that.
> 
> The first one is post 2x12 and basically wrote itself.

Barry’s in the kitchen grabbing some water when he hears Iris thundering down the stairs, and a beat later, Wally wails, “No, not  _again_. My eyes!”

Curious, he sticks his head out the doorway. Wally’s face is buried in the couch cushions. He’s holding one hand out, as though to ward someone off, and Iris—Well.

Here Barry’s brain stutters to a stop. There’s a furry jacket thing, which on any other day Barry would make fun of but right now he can’t because it’s hanging open over a lot of, um. Cleavage. Barry knows Iris well enough to recognize a push-up bra in action, not like he’s complaining or anything and then—

shorts that barely qualify as such and he doesn’t even need her to turn around to know that her ass looks amazing and—

miles of legs encased in tights and Jesus Chris this should be  _illegal_ —

“Therapy!” Wally’s voice is slightly muffled from all the cushions. “I’m gonna be in therapy forever! Please take it off!”

And Barry thinks vehemently _Never ever take it off_ but at the same time he’s already mentally sliding his hands inside the jacket and peeling it off her shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist, and—

He pops back into the kitchen, caught in an avalanche of lust. Breathes hard. He feels lightheaded, which makes sense given that all his blood is no doubt rushing south to a different portion of his anatomy.

“Barry?” Iris’s voice, from the living room. “Are you coming?”

Ha. Coming. Yes, he’d like to. With her. Whenever, wherever—

Get a grip, Allen. Her _brother_ is ten feet away.

He can hear Iris moving toward the kitchen and he flashes across the room so the counter blocks her view of his lower body. She leans against the doorframe, grinning cheerfully. “I _love_ going undercover.”

“Your hair is purple,” he says, surprised. He hadn’t notice it before. Well, obviously. There were several other more pressing things to take in.

“Go big or go home,” she says. “Ready?”

“Yup.” Barry gives himself points for not leering at her, which he then immediately has to take away because she turns around and—yeah. The shorts are _spectacular_.


	2. The car's too small and I have to sit on your lap trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could also be called "One of us is sloppy drunk and affectionate with it" trope.
> 
> Obviously written before the whole Jay situation exploded but lbr nobody actually cares about that. Also Linda's magically back because I say so.

One of the really annoying things about being unable to get drunk anymore is that Barry’s now the one who has to deal with his tipsy friends. Okay, tipsy is a stretch. They’re all drunk. And he’s not. And it sucks.

 _Demand is off the charts!_ the Uber app reads, which, great. Like this night couldn’t get any more irritating. “Guys, we’re gonna have to wait forever to get two cars.”

“We can all fit,” Cisco says, “there’s only like four of us.” And that’s how Barry knows Cisco is well and truly sloshed, because there are _seven_ of them waiting outside the bar. He looks around—well, make that five, since Caitlin and Jay have wandered off somewhere to make out, probably. “One car is fine, dude. It’s cool.” To emphasize just how cool it is, Cisco attempts to put his arm around Barry and succeeds in almost poking Barry’s eye out. Barry sighs.

Wally is trying extremely hard to impress Linda, who’s trying extremely hard to remain unimpressed. Iris is just drunk enough to find the whole situation hilarious, and Barry knows he’s going to have to drag her away before she starts chanting at them to kiss.

The Uber finally shows up, and Barry herds Wally, Linda, Cisco, and Iris into the backseat, ignoring their laughter as they shove and fall all over each other. They fit, but it’s tight. He’s about to get into the front when Caitlin comes running out of nowhere, towing Jay with her. “Wait, we’re coming,” she says breathlessly. Barry considers pointing out to Jay that he’s got lipstick all over his face, but on second thought…nah. Barry’s gonna take his amusement wherever he can find it. They climb into the front, and Barry’s about to shut the door and wave them off—he can just flash home, after all. Then Iris pokes her head out the backseat. “Barry! Come on, we can fit!”

“How…” he begins and then lunges forward as she falls out of the car. She loops her arms around his neck, laughing, as he looks past her to see that Linda has perched herself on Wally’s lap (and Wally’s smug grin tells him whose idea _that_ was). “I’ll sit on your lap,” Iris says, “It’ll be fine.”

“This is not going to work,” Barry says. “I’m too tall.”

“C’mon man, get in the car,” Wally says. Iris pushes him and Barry reluctantly folds himself into the seat next to Cisco, ignoring the latter’s smirk. Then Iris clambers onto his lap and shuts the door and they’re off before Barry can really process what’s about to happen.

She spends the first thirty seconds or so squirming around, trying to get comfortable. “You’re elbowing me in the stomach,” she complains, so he has no choice but to put an arm around her. She settles against his chest with a sigh. Her legs are tangled up with his and every time she breathes he can feel the side of her breast move against him and he has to hold himself perfectly still so he doesn’t embarrass himself horribly.

He’s avoided touching her overmuch ever since he got back from Earth-2. It’s just—a lot. He knows she’s aware that something’s off, but she hasn’t pushed him on it, not yet, and Barry’s grateful, because he doesn’t quite know what to say. Telling her their doppelgängers are married on Earth-2 had seemed like such a presumptuous, awkward thing to mention, especially in light of the whole “stop talking and start doing” disaster. He doesn’t want to be that guy again. But every time she comes near him now, he’s reminded, viscerally, of what it had been like to hold her—not her—in his arms, to pretend, even for a few hours, that she was truly his, just like he has always been hers.

And now she’s sitting on his lap in the dark, warm and affectionate and so _Iris_ , and gah. This _sucks_.

Then of course the car jolts over a bump and Barry grabs Iris around her waist with his free hand so she doesn’t go flying, and then he just…doesn’t let go. He doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t say anything and they simply sit like that, curled around each other, for the entirety of the car ride home. Around them, Wally and Linda and Caitlin and Cisco crack jokes and shout at each other and laugh drunkenly, and if anyone notices Barry and Iris’s silence, no one comments.

Eventually she tucks her head under his chin, against his shoulder. Her breath is warm against his neck. He tightens his grip, ever so slightly, and slows his own breathing so it’s in unison with hers. He doesn’t allow himself to rub his fingers over her back like he so desperately wants to do—she’s been drinking, and he’s not a creep. But he thinks about it. He’s a gentleman; he’s not _dead_.

The next day, she smiles sheepishly at him. “I’m _so_ sorry. I’m sure we were all so annoying.”

“No worries,” he says, careful to keep his voice bland. “I’m glad you had fun.”


	3. The new clothes made you hot oh no trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea actually came from @merdeandmore, who wanted a teenage!fic where Barry gets new clothes and Iris is inexplicably FURIOUS about it.

“Oh, man,” Iris says. “ _What_ are you wearing?”

Barry looks down, confused. “A shirt?”

The shirt fit him six inches ago. It looks like someone threw him in a dryer fully clothed. Barry isn’t really jacked, not like all the guys on the football team, but over the winter, his shoulders have broadened and his torso has lengthened. The cold weather means he’s been wearing sweaters for the last few months, which is probably why Iris hadn’t noticed the shirt problem before.

“Bear,” she says, trying not to laugh. “You realize that you’re tall now, right? You need new clothes.”

He looks like he’s about to protest so she holds up a hand. “Don’t complain. You look ridiculous. I’ll come with you. You don’t even need to do anything, just get what I tell you to get.”

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters.

“Trust me,” Iris says, enjoying herself immensely. “It is.”

*

The thing is, it’s not like Iris doesn’t know what Barry looks like. She’s lived with him since they were eleven. They share a _bathroom_ , for god’s sake. But now she thinks that it’s been a long time since she properly looked at Barry. She hasn’t really thought about what puberty has done to him.

She’s sitting outside a dressing room and he’s just come out, wearing a t-shirt and jeans she’d picked out for him. He’s looking in the mirror, fussing with his hair, his back to her, and for the first time in a long while, Iris actually _looks_ at him. Looks at the breadth of his back, how it tapers down into a V at his waist, how the shirt sits snugly against his body in a way that clothes have never done before. He _is_ tall, lanky, but he’s not a beanpole, not anymore. He doesn’t look like the boy she grew up with. Iris frowns.

“I don’t know,” Barry’s saying, adjusting the fit of the material across his chest. “You don’t think it’s too tight or something?”

“No,” Iris says, and it comes out too quickly. Barry’s eyes in the mirror flick to her face; he’s clearly surprised by the tone of her voice. Iris feels herself flush, and she clears her throat. “No, it looks fine, Bear.”

He ends up buying the t-shirt and a couple more like it, along with several button-downs that fit better than anything he’s ever owned before. She teases him, of course she does, but there’s a level of effort she has to exert in order to keep things light, keep him from noticing that anything’s wrong.

And nothing’s really _wrong_ , she reflects on the way home. It’s just…strange, having the realization that they’re both growing up manifest itself so obviously in front of her. Before she knows it, they’ll be leaving for college, and then life after college and beyond, and Barry Allen will no longer be down the hall, just a yell away whenever she needs him.

*

“So I’m guessing we have you to thank for Allen’s transformation,” Becky Cooper says several days later before the start of third period.

Iris blinks at the other girl. “What?”

“Barry,” Becky says. “He doesn’t look like he got dressed in the dark. For once. Thank you for doing your sisterly duty.”

The teacher begins class before Iris can reply, and she spends the next twenty minutes quietly seething. Both she and Barry get irritated whenever someone refers to them as siblings; she’s never thought of him that way, and she knows Barry doesn’t, either. It seems profoundly disrespectful to the Allens and the first eleven years of Barry’s life. She knows that if Barry could rewrite history so that his mother never died, so that the Allen family was never fractured, he’d do it in a heartbeat, and she wouldn’t blame him for it.

Secondly, she doesn’t appreciate any slight to Barry, even if it is true that his fashion sense had hitherfore been…somewhat haphazard. Sure, she can mock him whenever she feels like it, but she’s allowed. Becky freaking Cooper doesn’t have the right.

She’s still mad two periods later, when Barry sits down across from her at lunch and she eyes him in the new shirt.

“Did I spill already?” he asks, looking down at himself.

“No,” she says shortly, and he glances up at her in surprise.

“What’s wrong?”

She waves him off. “Nothing, I’m just in a bad mood.”

He grins at this, reaching over to steal one of her fries off her plate. She doesn’t react fast enough to swat him away and her irritation mounts. “Uh-oh,” he says, munching cheerfully. “Iris on the warpath. I better watch out.”

Across the room, she can see Becky Cooper and all her friends sitting together, laughing. She looks back at Barry and has an inexplicable urge to muss his hair or something, make him look more like the Barry she’s used to.

Barry’s still watching her with that intent look he gets in his eyes sometimes. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

“ _Nothing_ , Barry,” she repeats. “Nothing is wrong.”

*

The next day is a little cooler, and Barry wears one of the new button-downs. When she sees him again at lunch, she notices he’s done that thing that boys do sometimes, rolling the sleeves up to the elbow, and she spends the rest of the day wondering when in the hell Barry developed nice forearms. She doesn’t make eye contact with Becky Cooper at all.

*

“I feel like you’re mad at me,” Barry says, and Iris has to resist the urge to throw her notebook at him. She’s not mad, she doesn’t think, except the way she feels seems a lot like anger and she can’t explain it, and that just pisses her off even more.

*

Years later, she’ll be going through the closet and and will pull out one of the shirts. She’ll start to laugh. “Oh yeah,” Barry says, looking up from where he’s sprawled on their bed. “I forgot you hated that shirt. You can throw it out if you want.”

“No,” Iris says, still laughing. “We are never getting rid of this shirt.” She tosses it at him. “Put it on.”

Of course, by now he recognizes the tone in her voice. His eyebrows rise. He sits up on the bed and puts it on.

(It doesn’t stay on for very long.)


	4. The fake boyfriends trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of spoiler spec for 2x16.

“I think my boss asked me out today,” Iris says and Barry chokes on his drink.

“Really?” Caitlin asks, eyebrows raised. “Isn’t that some sort of conflict of interest?”

Iris shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know. I didn’t exactly consult the employee handbook.”

Around them, music pulses. Barry finally manages to swallow and sets his drink down on the table with a decisive click. “So, what did you say?” he says, trying to keep his voice casual. Across the table, Cisco rolls his eyes, which is how Barry knows he failed.

“I didn’t say anything,” Iris replies, fiddling with the straw of her drink. “He got called away before I could.”

“Oh,” Barry says. Because he is an idiot, he continues, “Well, do you want to? Go out with him, I mean.”

“I’m gonna…get another drink,” Cisco says. His glass is half-full and he is the least-smooth person Barry knows, excluding, unfortunately, Barry himself. “Caitlin, coming?”

Iris is still fiddling with her straw, not looking at him. “I don’t know. I mean, he _is_ a brilliant editor. And he’s pretty decent-looking.”

“Wait,” Barry says, his brain finally catching up to actual facts. “Your editor? Isn’t this the guy who hates me?”

Iris smiles. “He doesn’t like the _Flash_. He has no idea who _you_ are.”

Barry rolls his eyes, still outraged. “You know what I mean. How can you even think about—”

“Barry,” Iris says, still smiling. “I was just messing with you. I’m not gonna go out with my boss. It definitely wouldn’t do me any favors at CCPN to be that girl. And besides,” she adds, glancing back down at her drink, “he’s not really my type.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause as he digests this. “But you said he was good looking.”

“A lot of people are,” Iris replies, amused. “Doesn’t mean I want to date them.”

“Right. Um. Well.” And then, since he has absolutely no sense of self-preservation, he asks the question. “So, what is your type?”

She shoots him a level look before taking a long sip of her drink. Barry’s eyes are drawn, helplessly, to her lips as they wrap around the straw of her drink. “Taller than me,” she finally says noncommittally.

“That’s basically everyone.”

“You making a crack about my height, Mr. Allen?”

He shrugs, grinning at her. “Just stating facts.”

Her eyes narrow. She fishes out a piece of ice from her drink and throws it at him and he flashes six inches to one side.

“Too slow, Ms. West.”

Before she can respond, a waitress comes up to their table with a drink on a tray. “Excuse me, but the guy over there wanted to buy you a drink?” She motions across the bar at another table, where a bro-y looking dude in a t-shirt waves awkwardly. His friends all chortle together, slapping him on the back and giving Iris the thumbs-up. It takes all of Barry’s willpower not to role his eyes.

“Oh,” Iris says. “Um, thanks, but uh, he’s my boyfriend.” She motions across the table.

It takes Barry a moment to realize that she’s talking about _him_. “Uh, yeah,” he says, stepping closer to her and sliding his arm around her shoulders. It’s totally dumb and needlessly possessive, but he doesn’t care. Iris slips her own arm around his waist, leaning into him. Across the bar, the bro lifts up his hands in a “my bad” gesture. “Right, so do you want the drink or not?” the waitress asks, bored. It’s clear she’s seen this sort of thing before.

“Nah, I’m good,” Iris says. “Sorry.”

“‘Kay,” the waitress says, walking away.

Iris starts to laugh. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem, I don’t mind,” Barry says in what’s probably the understatement of the century. He holds his breath but she doesn’t move away from him. His skin tingles everywhere they’re touching and he wonders idiotically if kissing her would be in character as her pretend boyfriend or if that would be too much. Probably too much, he decides, but that doesn’t stop him from imagining it in great detail.

Cisco’s got his eyebrows glued to his forehead when he and Caitlin return. “I’m protecting Iris,” Barry says, and Iris laughs again and explains. Cisco gives Barry a _you ain’t slick_ look but doesn’t say anything.

“By the way Iris, I _love_ your boots,” Caitlin says, plunking down her drink and stepping away from the table to better take in the boots in question. “I didn’t really notice them when I first saw you.”

“Oh, thanks,” Iris says, looking down. To Barry’s everlasting regret, she moves out from under his arm and closer to Caitlin to continue talking. “Yeah, they were ridiculously expensive but I love them.”

For a scientist, Caitlin can be shockingly unobservant, Barry thinks. There is literally no way anyone with decent eyesight could have missed Iris’s boots. They’re black leather and hit her mid-thigh. The first time he’d ever seen her wearing them, he’d been about to take a sip of water and had completely missed his mouth. Some of Barry’s very favorite fantasies prominently feature those boots, and the nearest wall. Or counter. Or—

“…Dude,” Cisco says. “ _Dude_.” Barry blinks and looks at him. “You went somewhere for a minute, man.” Barry flushes and looks down. Iris and Caitlin are still talking fashion, completely oblivious. Cisco shakes his head. “I don’t even want to know.”

“Probably for the best,” Barry agrees.


	5. The stuck in a closet trope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There,” Iris says triumphantly and starts sliding back up.
> 
> “No, don’t,” Barry says, closing his eyes, but it’s too late. Nearly two decades of being in love with Iris West plus the basics of biology and the fact that it’s been awhile equals a totally unavoidable and totally humiliating reaction.

If anyone had asked Barry even a day earlier what his worst nightmare was, being stuck in a tiny closet with Iris probably wouldn’t be the answer. In fact, that probably would have been on his list of dream scenarios, but the truth is, now that he actually _is_ stuck in said closet with said woman, all he can feel is rising panic.

Well, to be perfectly honest, panic is not the only thing that’s rising.

*

In Barry’s defense, none of this is actually his fault.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Iris whispers again, and Barry shifts uncomfortably because her mouth is very close to his neck and her breath is warm and shivers across his skin and they are absolutely _jammed_ together into this stupid tiny too-small closet. There’s a bunch of boxes poking into his back and on Iris’s other side, a massive safe takes up the rest of the closet, leaving them this sliver of space to wedge themselves in as they wait. On the other side of the closet door, a big, burly guy in a terrible suit is watching soccer on his laptop. The only blessing in the entire situation is that the volume is loud enough to mask Barry and Iris’s whispers and the occasional creak when Barry accidentally leans too hard against the boxes.

Iris had been investigating a businessman with some shady dealings and had snuck into his office looking for more evidence. Barry had gone along, mostly because he was bored, but also in case she needed to be run out of there quickly. Because the universe hates him, burly suit guy had very nearly surprised them in the middle of going through the office and there hadn’t been time for Barry to whisk them away without being seen. Ergo, closet.

“How long do soccer games last?” Iris asks now. The closet doors have downward-pointing slats that let in light without allowing burly suit to see them, and strips of light slide across her face as she peers out.

Barry shrugs. “Couple hours?”

She sighs, her chest rising against his, and he feels it viscerally. He and Iris have always been tactile with each other, linking arms or hugging or sitting close to each other on the couch, but this—this is prolonged exposure, front to front. Her chest is plastered to his, her hip is uncomfortably close to his groin, one of his knees is inserted between hers, and _Christ_. He tries to shift backwards and is stopped by the boxes.

“I’m gonna put my bag down,” Iris says, and before Barry can really register what she’s said, sort of _lowers_ herself down. He realizes that she’s bending her knees to do it, trying to get closer to the ground because she doesn’t have room to lean over and doesn’t want to just drop the bag, but it means that she’s basically _sliding_ down his body and—oh god.

“Oh, god,” Barry says.

“There,” Iris says triumphantly and starts sliding back up.

“No, don’t,” Barry says, closing his eyes, but it’s too late. Nearly two decades of being in love with Iris West plus the basics of biology and the fact that it’s _been awhile_ equals a totally unavoidable and totally humiliating reaction.

“Barry, what’s—oh.” Iris freezes. He doesn’t want to open his eyes but he has to know just how terrible the situation truly is. Then he immediately wishes he hadn’t. Iris’s own eyes are wide and she’s staring at him, holding carefully still. Her top has been dragged down a little, presumably from their proximity, and he can see the lacy edge of her bra and the dark valley of her cleavage. His _reaction_ gives a hopeful little twitch at the sight and Iris’s eyes widen further because of course she felt _that_.

Barry wants to _die_.

*

Iris stands stock still for a moment longer, staring up at Barry. His face is an interesting mix of pained and embarrassed and he’s breathing very shallowly. She can feel it—okay, they’re adults here—she can feel his cock pressing against her stomach. It’s surprisingly hard, considering that all she did was brush up against his body. It’s not like there was actual _groping_ or anything.

What’s more surprising is the answering warmth she feels, pooling between her legs, and all of a sudden she’s hyperaware of how close he is to her, and of all the places their bodies are already touching. A year spent as the Flash has bulked him out just a little, added a bit of muscle, and Iris can feel the strength in his chest, in his thighs. She inhales. Barry’s eyes drop down and she realizes that he’s looking at her breasts and she can _feel_ the weight of his gaze like a touch. Her nipples harden. The atmosphere in the closet goes from stuffy to fully charged and she hovers on the brink of indecision for just a moment. Barry looks back at her face—at her mouth—and she makes a decision. She leans into him, just a little, and his cock twitches again.

“Iris,” he says, his voice low and guttural. “What…?”

“Shhh,” she says, and leans further, grinding ever so slightly against him. Barry sucks in a breath, jerking against her, and then his hands clasp her hips, holding her carefully. Her heart is pounding. She can feel his heartbeat, thundering away. She puts a palm over it, feeling it thud, and smiles. “It’s still beating.”

She meets his gaze, still smiling. Despite the dim lighting, she can still make out the naked want in his face, and it pleases her, because Iris also wants. She trails her hand up his chest, up his neck, cups his face.

“Can I—I want to kiss you,” he says, fingers tightening on her hips.

“Then kiss me,” Iris says.

*

A part of him wishes that it was the first time for him, like it is for her, but another part of him is grateful for the erased timeline and Earth-2, because those experiences allow Barry to go slowly. He kisses her leisurely, with care, as though they have all the time in the world because this time, they do. There’s no tidal wave bearing down on them, and this is _his_ Iris, the one he has loved his entire life. He’s in no hurry. It’s a kiss of exploration, learning how she tastes and feels in his arms, learning what makes her sigh and press herself closer to him.

He eases her back against the solid wall of the safe, hitching her up a little. His thigh is between her legs and the sound she utters as she rocks against him makes him grin. She catches the look, eyes flashing, and reaches down, stroking him through his pants and Barry can’t help thrusting forward into her hand. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying not to lose total control. When he feels her fumbling with his fly, he pulls back. “Wait, I won’t…I won’t want to stop, if you touch me.”

“So?” Iris says breathlessly. “Who says I want you to stop?”

Her impish expression makes him laugh quietly, despite his thundering arousal. “We’re in a _closet_ , Iris.”

She shrugs, glancing out.

“I’ve thought about this moment for years.” Barry nods toward bad suit guy on the other side of the door, still watching soccer and completely oblivious. “I don’t want an audience for it.”

She shrugs again, overly casual. “No voyeuristic tendencies, then?” He blinks, startled. Then laughs again as he catches the curve of her smirk.

“Come here,” he says, dipping his head back down, and feels a thrill when she rises to meet him.

*

 _I’ve thought about this moment for years._ It’s sweet, she thinks. But _sweet_ is not at all how she’s feeling at that moment and not at all what she wants. She feels restless and tingly. Barry’s kissing her—expertly, she has to add—and the feeling of his tongue in her mouth and his hands in her hair and his body pinning her against the safe is making her want to jump out of her own skin. She hikes a leg up over his hip, finding purchase against one of the stacked boxes. She’s moving quietly, trying not to make too much noise, but then Barry kisses his way down her neck, tonguing wetly as he nips at her skin and she hisses and spasms against the safe. He looks back up, eyes alight, and she can’t help but roll her eyes at his expression.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accuses him and he grins unrepentantly.

“You have no idea,” he tells her, sliding a hand under her ass and pulling her up further, higher against him. Iris obliges by wrapping her other leg around him; he rewards her with a roll of his hips that brings the bulge in his pants directly against her clit and makes her gasp. With his free hand he pulls one side of her shirt down and returns his lips to her neck. Iris clutches at his head and shoulders as she feels the pressure start to build.

He’s nudged her bra strap off her shoulder and is mouthing down perilously close to a nipple when she shakes her head and says breathlessly, “I thought you didn’t want an audience. I thought you wanted to wait.” She immediately regrets saying anything when he stops what he’s doing and lifts his head. His eyes are blown dark and even in the low light she can see how flushed he is. “Do you want me to stop?”

Iris swallows. “Not really.”

“Sure?” He punctuates this with another roll of his hips and she bites down on her lip, squirming against him.

“Barry…”

He laughs up at her and Iris is struck by how natural this all feels, despite the circumstances: Her top’s half off and his hand’s on her ass and his erection is pressed pretty firmly right where she wants it. She knows what he tastes like and what his mouth feels like on her skin and everything feels exactly the way it’s supposed to. It’s right that they can laugh together in this, just like it’s right to feel her stomach swoop when his grin becomes more of a smirk. “Can I try something?”

Iris raises her brows. “Uh…depends?”

The smirk grows more pronounced. “I could never try this before but you already know I’m the Flash, so…” Before she can figure out what he’s talking about, one of his hands is sliding across her belly, and it’s…vibrating?

“Oh my god,” Iris says faintly as she comprehends what’s about to happen. “You’ve gotta be kidding—”

And then his hand is on her, and—yeah. It’s vibrating. His fingers are—oh, _god_. Usually with guys, the first time they try this there’s a moment of awkwardness as they get the lay of the land, so to speak, but _vibrating fingers_ means that it all feels amazing.

“Holy fucking _shit_ —” Iris gasps out, digging her fingers into his shoulders and bracing herself against the safe. Thank god for the safe. Thank god it’s solid enough to withstand the force of her body jerking against it as she shudders. Barry shifts a little, finding her clit with his thumb, and vibrates gently against it before rubbing in a circular motion. Iris realizes she’s shut her eyes and she opens them again to see his own eyes still and intent on her face, watching her carefully as he touches her. Then he slips a finger inside of her and Iris brings up an arm to cover her own mouth as she tries to hold in a moan.

“ _God_ ,” Barry says, leaning forward to place an open-mouthed kiss against her neck. “You’re so—this is so—”

“Don’t stop,” Iris breathes, straining against the safe, bucking against his hand.

He laughs shortly. “Not a chance.”

Her orgasm, when it comes, spreads out from her center, radiating through every last nerve ending in a tingling, swirling wave. Iris rides it out, shaking and gasping Barry’s name, slumping forward against him. He holds her gently until her shudders subside and then carefully sets her down.

“Whoah,” she finally says when she has her breath back. She’s still flushed, a little disoriented, and when she looks up at Barry she can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across her face. “Hell of a party trick.”

His answering smile is an endearing mix of sheepish and pleased. He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously, ducking his head down. “I—I’m sorry, I got a little carried away.”

“Oh,” Iris says. “It wasn’t—it was okay.” She snorts a little, readjusting her clothes. “It was more than okay, trust me.”

“Iris,” Barry begins and she holds up a hand, forestalling him.

“Yeah, I know, we should probably—”

A noise from the office makes them both glance out through the slates. Burly suit is snapping his laptop shut, making ready to leave. He flips off the light on his way out, plunging the closet into darkness.

They wait a few moments more but the man doesn’t return. Iris starts to giggle.

“What?”

“I just…I totally forgot he was out there.”

Barry chuckles. “Should we get out of here?”

“Definitely.”

He steps out first; she can hear him feel his way carefully out. “All clear,” he whispers. “Do you need to go back to CCPN?”

“Yeah,” Iris replies.

“Okay. Talk later?”

She nods and then she’s picked up and the world goes rushing by.


	6. The hurt/comfort trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post 2x22, and yes I know this is going to be jossed as soon as 2x23 airs. Oh well.

They find him in the Allen’s old living room, where Nora died sixteen years ago. Barry’s clutching his father in his arms, shaking. Zoom is long gone, and Henry is dead.

Joe drops to the floor behind Barry, gathers him close. Iris falls to her knees across from him, carefully enveloping Henry and Barry between her and her father, cocooning the Allen men away from the rest of the world. Barry doesn’t speak. Shock has rendered him colorless; in the darkness he looks like a ghost of himself. For a moment Iris isn’t sure that he’s even aware of them but then he rests his forehead in the crook of her neck and takes a ragged breath.

“I should have known.”

“Shh, Barry,” Joe says. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have—”

“Barry, no,” Iris says, stroking his hair, and he subsides back into silence. She can feel her father gripping Barry’s shoulder across from her and together they hold him upright, Henry cradled between the three of them.

Eventually, Joe says, “Barry, will you let me take care of him now? Let Iris take you home and let me take Henry. I have him now. I’ll call Captain Singh. We’ll take him from here.”

*

She doesn’t think that Barry will have any memory of the drive home. He huddles in the passenger seat under a blanket; his eyes are wide and unseeing. She knows he’s reliving whatever happened with Zoom in the living room, reliving the moment of his father’s death. Her heart aches for him, for the invincible man he thought he was, for the boy who’s already lost so much.

Wally’s putting away the uneaten dinner when they arrive home. He takes one look at Barry draped over her arm and says simply, “What do you need?”

“A glass of water,” Iris says and he nods, disappearing into the kitchen. She feels a fierce flash of love for him, knowing that he must be filled with a thousand questions and a thousand recriminations, knowing that he’s entitled. He can yell all he wants. Later.

She gently tugs Barry up the stairs and into his room. He stands passively as she undoes his Flash suit, as she pulls a soft, worn t-shirt over his head. She goes to leave the room for the water and he says quietly, “Don’t go.” The tone of his voice breaks her heart.

“Shh, Barry,” she says, coming back to his side. “I’m just going to get you some water. Just downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

Wally meets her at the foot of the stairs. “We should have told you,” she says.

“Apologize tomorrow,” he replies, handing her the glass and her phone. “It’s Cisco.”

“How is he?” Cisco says without preamble. She’d texted him from the Allen’s old house; he must have been tracking her phone to see when they’d arrived.

“About what you’d expect."

“What can we do?”

“Let me know if Zoom comes back. And call my dad; he may need your help with…everything.”

“Take care of him,” Cisco says in farewell and she hangs up and returns to Barry.

He’s sitting on the bed when she reenters the room, staring off into the middle distance. He takes the water without any fuss and drinks without even seeming to register what he’s doing. When he’s done, he puts the glass on the bedside table and says blankly, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Iris sits next to him. She doesn’t put her arm around him but lets her shoulder brush his. He leans against her, face still blank. She waits patiently and part of her remembers other nights spent like this, the two of them sitting together quietly before one of them finally feels the need to speak. After a long moment, Barry says, “Zoom—Jay—Zolomon thinks we’re alike. That’s why he did it. He said if I watched it happen, like he did—”

Here Barry breaks off. His chest heaves once and then he turns to Iris, his eyes full of tears. “But I’m not like him, I’m _not_ —” His face crumbles and then he’s weeping, clutching her desperately with both hands as though she’s the only sure thing in his life.

Iris holds him tightly, one hand firm around his middle and the other buried in the soft hair at his nape as he cries into her shoulder. She doesn’t shush him. And this too reminds her of past nights, of everything that she and Barry have already gone through. They’ve already survived so much.

She’s not sure how long they sit like that, wrapped around each other. Finally Barry pulls away, hiccuping. His face is red and blotchy but his breathing is steady. His brow furrows as he looks at her. “Oh—I’ve wrecked your dress.”

Iris doesn’t bother looking down at herself. “Barry. You’re right. You’re _nothing_ like Zolomon. Nothing. He destroys everything he touches but you—you will never be like him, and there’s nothing he could do to change that.” He bites his lip, looking steadily at her. Iris smiles fiercely at him. “And that’s why you’re gonna beat him.”

He doesn’t smile. “I know. It’s why _we’re_ gonna beat him. All of us, together.”

She nods, reaching up to brush away some of his tears. Barry catches her hand between his own, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Iris,” he says, taking a deep breath, “I wouldn’t be here without you. The worst moments of my life, everything that’s happened to me—it’s bearable because of you.”

They’re already sitting close together on the bed. Barry only has to lean forward a few last inches to kiss her. Iris allows her eyes to flutter closed as she feels the soft brush of his lips against hers, once, twice. Then his hand slides into her hair and her mouth opens under his and she feels him sigh against her.

He stops after a while, resting his forehead against hers. “Will you stay with me tonight?” Then he flushes and pulls away. “I didn’t mean—I’m not assuming—I just don’t want to be alone.”

She smiles fondly at him. “I know.”

“I can’t—tonight isn’t—”

“Barry,” Iris interrupts, “I know. I understand.”

Tonight isn’t about them, nor should it be. Iris slips into one of his old t-shirts and slides into bed next to Barry, who settles against her side and lets out a long breath. “Can we talk more tomorrow?” he says.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**


	7. The "fix it, Jesus" trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 2x23, duh.

Barry remained outside for another half hour. Iris tried not to worry; she understood only too well the intense need for solitude that had swamped her at times, after Eddie died. She’d told him she’d wait. There wasn’t anything more she could do, at least for tonight.

His face was drawn and pale when he finally came in. He didn’t look at anyone and said shortly, “I’m going to bed.” She watched him walk up the stairs, head bowed, and didn’t need to be told that her own heart was in her eyes.

Caitlin and Cisco headed home soon after. “You gonna stay here?” Wally asked her.

Iris bit her lip, thinking, and then said, “Yeah. It’s probably stupid, but…”

He shook his head. “No, I understand. You can take my bed if you want.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks, punk, but when was the last time you washed your sheets?”

“Last week,” he replied, affronted. “My mama raised me right.”

“I’ll be fine on the couch,” she said. “Throw me that blanket?”

Joe came out of the kitchen and eyed her. “I think there are some of your old pjs in a closet somewhere. Want me to find them?”

“Thanks, dad.”

*

She woke, disoriented, some time just after dawn. She automatically looked for Barry, who could usually be found passed out somewhere nearby whenever she’d fallen asleep on the couch when they were younger. But the weak light flowing in through the windows confused her, as did the sight of Barry, fully dressed, coming down the stairs with a bag over his shoulder.

He started when he saw her, shock giving way to dismay and then resignation. He came down the rest of the stairs and perched on the end of the couch, looking down at her wryly. He still looked pale and tired, the circles under his eyes standing out in stark relief to the wanness of his face.

“I didn’t know you stayed over.”

“Yeah,” she said, sitting up and rubbing a hand over her face blearily. “I don’t know, I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”

“You were worried about me,” he said.

She lifted one shoulder up in a lopsided shrug and glanced at the bag. “Going somewhere?”

He sighed, looking away from her. “Yeah. I think.”

Iris pulled her knees up and laced her arms around them, waiting.

“I just…” Barry said, and then sighed again, glancing back at her. “Last night, I almost did something…really stupid. I knew it was stupid, I knew it would be completely irresponsible of me, and selfish, and yet… Honestly, I’m not entirely sure I won’t end up doing it anyways.

“I meant what I said before, about how being the Flash made me be the person I’m meant to be. But right now, I can’t—I don’t know how to do that anymore. I’m scared that I won’t be strong enough to make the decisions that the Flash has to make, instead of the choices that Barry Allen wishes he could make.”

“Everyone needs a break, Barry,” Iris said gently. “It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“I don’t trust myself, Iris,” he replied. “This last week—I feel like with every passing day I’m losing more and more of myself. When you told me last night that you loved me—I have been waiting for you to say that for _years_. I have dreamed that moment so many times. And when it happened, I wanted to be so happy—and part of me _was_ —but it wasn’t the way I should feel, hearing those words from you. It wasn’t the way I _wanted_ to feel. I don’t—I don’t feel like myself and I don’t like the sorts of thoughts that have been running through my head lately.”

He shifted on the couch, running his hands through his hair, and the gesture was so familiar, it made her heart ache. “I thought the Speed Force had taught me something, but it—it was too fragile. Zoom took it from me when he took my father. I know I won’t be able to get it back if I stay. There’s too much here to remind me of what—of what I’ve lost, and what I can still lose, and I don’t want to risk doing something…that I’ll regret.”

“Where will you go?” Iris asked after a long moment.

“I don’t know,” Barry replied. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” she said. “Especially not to me.” She came up on her knees, leaning towards him, and put a hand on his leg. “Take all the time you need. And if there’s anything,  _anything_ I can do, just say the word and I’ll be there.”

He looked down at her hand on his leg, his eyes hooded. “I do love you, even if I can’t—I can’t be the man who deserves you right now.”

She squeezed gently. “It’s not about who deserves what. You should go for your own sake, not mine. I still know who you are, even if you feel lost to yourself. You’re still my Barry Allen and you always will be.”

This kiss felt more bittersweet. One of Barry’s hands twisted in her hair, and his lips were desperate on hers. When he pulled away, his eyes were wet. “My Iris.”

“When you’re ready,” Iris said, “come home to me.”

He nodded once, kissed her forehead, and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know things are not all the way "fixed" here, ie WA are not ~together, but considering Barry's headspace, I think it would require a much longer fic in order to get him to a better place. Dude needs a ton of superhero counseling. So. Maybe some other time? (Don't hate me.)


	8. The time-travel trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically an AU where nothing in S2 happened except for Wally coming to town. Also, let's pretend that the SpeedForce is just a time-travel McGuffin that allows me to do whatever the hell I want, instead of whatever the hell it actually is supposed to be. IDK.

“Uh,” says Iris.

“I think,” Linda says, “that things did _not_ go according to plan.”

Thirty seconds ago, they’d been standing in Star Labs, along with Barry, Cisco, Dr. Stein, and Wally. Now they’re in Iris’s living room with the men nowhere in sight.

“What happened?” Iris turns in a careful circle, taking in their surroundings. “Was that the Speedforce?”

“I think so?” Linda says. “I’m not as familiar with it as you are. Did it feel differently to you?”

Iris stops mid-circle, not really listening. “Oh, shit.”

They’re not actually in her living room. They’re in _Joe’s_ living room, back when the house had been his. Which means—

“We time-traveled,” Iris says, resigned.

“You sure?”

Before Iris can answer, the door opens and Wally walks in. “Hey, Iris,” he says, slinging his backpack on the couch. He takes in Linda standing stiffly next to Iris and his brows go up. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” says Linda.

*

“He’s so _young_ ,” Linda says, mortified. “He looks like an _infant_.”

“Focus,” Iris hisses. They’re huddled in the kitchen, having left a very perplexed Wally in the living room. “When did you guys meet in our timeline?”

“He was about to graduate, I think?” Linda chews her lip. “I don’t remember him looking like that.”

“He looks like that _now_ ,” Iris says impatiently. “He has a babyface, get over it.”

“Well, what should we do?”

“At the very least, we need to find Barry in this timeline, see if he can help us get back.”

Linda frowns. “That’s not gonna screw things up?”

“Of course it is,” Iris says, “but what other choice do we have? Neither of us can get back on our own, and this Wally doesn’t have his powers yet. But Barry’s time-traveled before, he knows the risks better than anyone. Hopefully he can help us minimize the damage.”

*

“Hi,” Iris says. Barry’s staring at her, his mouth slightly open. She knows she must look different—she _is_ nearly ten years older; she’s given birth to _twins_ , for god’s sake—and she wonders what he sees.

They’re standing in an abandoned field not far from Star Labs. When Iris had called the Barry in the current timeline, he’d stuttered a few times and then suggested meeting somewhere that Iris—the other Iris—and Joe wouldn’t normally go.

“Um,” he says, and blinks a couple times. Off to the side, Linda rolls her eyes.

“Is there any way we can get back without totally screwing up the timeline?” Iris asks. She already knows the answer but hopefully talking about science will jar him loose from whatever stupor he’s in.

“Er,” he says, frowning. “No, I think you being here, and me seeing you, means that things have already been changed. But hopefully not by too much. Why were you even time-traveling in the first place?”

Linda scowls at this. “We weren’t meant to be, it was an accident. And believe me, I’m gonna have a loooong conversation with your future self when we get back about _that_.”

“And anyways,” Iris continues, “I don’t think we should tell you what we _were_ trying to do. I’ve listened to enough rants from you and Cisco and—well, at any rate, the point is, we’re here now.”

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Forget I mentioned it.”

She smiles at him and he blinks some more, stutters a few times before he resumes talking about how he can get them back. She doesn’t need to look to know that Linda’s rolling her eyes again.

*

Over a decade’s worth of working with and listening to Wally, Cisco, Jesse and her father, not to mention her own husband means that Iris is a lot more knowledgeable about all of the involved science-y things that Team Flash gets up to on a regular basis. She’s aware that Barry’s surprised by this; he’d clearly been prepared to explain in much greater detail his plans for getting them back to their own time and his face goes slightly comical when both she and Linda are able to finish his sentences on multiple occasions.

“…Right,” he says now, “great, you’ve got the idea. Cool.”

She wants to laugh but doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. She settles for squeezing his arm. “At this point, we’ve had a lot of experience with stuff like this.”

“Of course,” he says automatically, but he’s looking down at her hand on his arm and she follows his gaze. Under the lights of the Cortex, the stones from her wedding band and engagement ring sparkle merrily. “Oh,” Barry says awkwardly, flushing. “You’re—uh…”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Linda mutters. “ _Please_ put him out of his misery, this is painful. Screw the timeline.”

Iris shoots a glare at her friend, who at least has the grace to move away and give them some privacy.

“No, you don’t have to,” Barry starts and Iris shakes her head.

“I don’t think this is really that big of a deal, since you’ve already seen the newspaper.”

“Newspaper…?” He’s clearly not following.

“With the byline,” Iris says. “My byline.”

Barry’s eyes widen. “But that’s just—one timeline…it doesn’t mean…”

“Is there a timeline where we’re not together?” Iris says, shrugging. “Maybe. I mean, statistically speaking, sure, why not. But it’s not the timeline _I’m_ from.”

“Oh,” Barry says again. His blush extends from his neck to the tips of his ears. Iris grins at him, utterly charmed. “I forgot how adorable you can be,” she says and is delighted when his blush deepens further. “I’d kiss you, but I don’t think the Iris of your timeline would appreciate it.”

“Oh,” he says for the third time, and she starts to worry that she’s unwittingly reduced his vocabulary to this, but then he continues, “Iris—my Iris—I mean, not _my_ Iris, but the one from my—she’s still mourning Eddie, and I don’t want to…I mean, I respect her need for space, so…”

“Barry,” Iris says gently and mercifully he shuts up. “You don’t need to tell me; I remember.”

“Yeah,” he says, embarrassed, “right, sorry. That was dumb of me.”

And after that, she _has_ to kiss him, timeline and her past self be damned. It’s soft and sweet and almost chaste; they’re not touching any place except for their lips and her hand on his arm. His eyes are still closed when she draws away and he looks impossibly, heartbreakingly young. She has to resist the urge to trace the curve of his eyelashes where they rest against his cheek; she doesn’t want to startle him and she knows to touch him further would be unfair.

His eyes flutter open and his expression is at once familiar and at the same time shocking in its intensity. Nearly ten years of marriage and kids and hectic schedules hasn’t dulled the love between her and her Barry. But it’s been a long time since she’d thought about the way he used to look at her, reverent and half-disbelieving, as though she was a dream he couldn’t believe he got to have, as though he was frightened that one wrong move could spin her right out from his orbit.

“Be patient,” she says now to this Barry who is and isn’t her own. “Trust me.”

He nods wordlessly, one hand rising to touch his lips. She steps back away from him and calls across the room for Linda.

*

There’s a cacophony of voices when they get back; the men all standing round shouting, exactly where she and Linda had left them. Then Barry, _her_ Barry, clutching her shoulders, saying frantically, “Iris, are you okay? Iris?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that her brother has converged on Linda in a similar manner. “We’re fine,” she says calmly. “We were thrown back into the past. About ten years ago, I’d say. Barry—that Barry—helped us get back.”

“Ah,” Dr. Stein says, turning to frown at some of the equations written on a wall. “I wonder if—” He’s joined by Cisco, already reaching for a marker.

Barry’s still studying her, worried. “C’mere,” she says, motioning to the door. He follows her out, still frowning.

“Are you sure you’re—” He breaks off with a grunt as she rounds on him abruptly, shoving him against the wall. “What the…?”

 _This_ kiss is not soft, or sweet, or chaste. This kiss is deep, filled with all the love and all the passion that she couldn’t let the other Barry feel. And also, tongues.

His arms come around her automatically, anchoring her body hard against his. Iris fists her hands in his hair and allows herself a few moments to revel in the feeling of being in Barry Allen’s arms and knowing there is nowhere else in the world she’d rather be.

Eventually she pulls away. They’re both breathing hard and she’s only too aware of the bulge in his pants, pressed hot against her stomach. “Not like I’m complaining, but what was that for?” he says, brushing some hair out of her eyes and searching her face. “Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing happened?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, “that it took me so long to—to recognize my feelings for you.”

His brows quirk. “Iris…that was a million years ago.”

“Not for the Barry I met today,” she says simply.

His face clears in understanding. “Ah. On a scale of one to completely dumbfounded, how in awe of you was I?”

“You saw my wedding ring,” she replies ruefully. “I know I should have been more careful, but I didn’t have the heart to let you think that I—that we weren’t—”

He pulls her in for a hug. “I understand.”

“We’d better…”

“Yeah,” he says and they turn as one to head back to the others. Before they reenter, Barry stops and tilts her head up with one hand. “Just so you know,” he says, his eyes warm and serious on hers, “I never truly minded how long it took, for us to get together. You were always worth the wait, Iris.”

She smiles. It’s so sweet and so typically _Barry_. “I love you, too,” she says, and then hand in hand, they walk on.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: I realize that some of my time travel ~logic probably doesn't quite add up (i.e. Future Barry should probably remember things slightly differently once Iris returns due to the changed timeline, according to Flash mythos). All I can say is: time travel is ridiculous and can bite me.


	9. The vibrating tongue trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually a sequel to [Chapter five: stuck in a closet,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6271831/chapters/14955361) which should be read first; this one takes place immediately after. Also in case the chapter title was not enough of a giveaway, this one has sexytimes as well.

She’d been roped into an editorial meeting as soon as they’d gotten back to CCPN, so Barry leaves with a murmured “See you tonight?” She nods at him, flushing a little, before the yelling at the conference table forces her attention away. It’s admittedly rather difficult to stay focused but she somehow makes it through the rest of the day. She arrives at Joe’s expecting to find Barry and is surprised to see Cisco, Caitlin, Harry, and Jesse, along with Wally, gathered in the dining room.

“Oh,” Iris says, nonplussed. “I didn’t realize…”

“Impromptu team dinner,” her dad says, coming out of the kitchen with a large pan of something that smells like lasagna. “Baby, would you mind rescuing the salad from Barry? I don’t trust that boy.”

Barry is indeed in the kitchen, murdering a head of lettuce.

“Bear, I thought—what are you _doing_?”

“Making a salad,” he says in tones that are far too reasonable for someone holding a meat cleaver. “This is so much easier to use than a regular knife.”

“Why are you even…never mind. Put that down.” He does and backs away, watching as she briskly washes her hands and turns back to the lettuce. Barry says softly, “I thought having more people here would give us some cover. From Joe and Wally. Provide a distraction.”

She nods but doesn’t look up from the cutting board.

“I’m sorry,” Barry says, “I should have checked with you first.”

“No, it’s fine,” she replies. “It’s actually not a bad idea.” Laughter from the other room spills into the kitchen and she smiles ruefully.

“Sooo,” Barry says. “How was the rest of your day?”

“Fine,” she says, dumping the lettuce into a bowl and starting to cut up carrots. “Busy. I…it was a bit hard to be productive.”

“Was it?” he says, and he sounds so smug that Iris has to roll her eyes at him.

“Can you grab the croutons? They’re on the top shelf.”

Barry twists and reaches up to grab the bag and Iris watches covertly as his shirt stretches over his shoulders and torso. Heat rises in her cheeks as she remembers how it had felt to be pressed up along his body. She clears her throat, turning back to the salad. He opens the bag and stands next to her to dump the croutons into the bowl. Her flush deepens, and she’s glad that her skin tone doesn’t allow the color to come through.

“What?”

“It’s…nothing.”

Barry doesn’t move away from her. They’re not touching but his nearness is a tangible thing, making her insides go all quivery. “ _Iris_.” He’s smiling down at her, patient and amused and maddeningly close. It’s not fair, she thinks, that he can just _stand there_ and be so annoyingly self-possessed when she can barely look at him without flashing back to the orgasm he’d given her not five hours earlier. And _how_ he’d given it to her.

She heaves a sigh. “Fine. It was just a thought I had… You can vibrate any part of your body, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Like your face?”

“Yeah, why—” She can _see_ the moment he gets it. His expression goes sort of blank and his eyes widen. “Oh. Uh. I hadn’t—I hadn’t thought about that.”

Iris raises a brow. “Really? It seems like a natural leap to make from the hand thing.”

“…Right,” Barry says, and now he’s the one flushing, his face turning bright red. “Yeah. Um.”

“Anyways,” Iris says. “It was just something I was thinking about. Earlier. When I wasn’t able to concentrate.”

“You were thinking about…” he trails off, and there’s nothing smug in his tone now. Iris grins at him, pleased to have upset his equanimity. Serves him right.

“What is taking so long?” Joe asks, popping his head into the kitchen. Barry stumbles backwards into the counter and Iris smiles brightly and sweeps by him with the salad.

“Sorry, we’re coming,” she says. “Barry thought it was a good idea to chop lettuce with a meat cleaver.”

“The hell, Bear?” Joe says behind her as she breezes into the dining room and sets the salad on the table with a flourish.

The look Barry gives her when he sits down would scorch metal, but thankfully nobody notices amidst the general commotion. Dinner passes by normally enough, and if Barry is occasionally slow to answer, Iris thinks that no one else really picks up on it.

*

Dinner is a _nightmare_. Barry had enough presence of mind not to sit next to Iris, but he still has trouble focusing on the conversation (Wally’s still freaking out over Earth-2’s engineering advances and won’t stop peppering Harry and Jesse with questions, much to the former’s annoyance and the latter’s delight). Iris keeps shooting him innocent smiles and asking him questions and looking immensely cheerful each time he stutters out a reply.

To be perfectly honest, Barry’s not sure just how he’d managed to get through the day without spontaneously combusting every time his mind flashed back to kissing her and touching her and feeling her wrapped tightly around him. He’d been relieved to find out that she’d also found it hard to return back to work after their…closet interlude, but then hearing just exactly _what_ she’d been thinking about had thrown him for a loop.

He can’t believe he had never considered it before, but now that he _has_ —well. It’s not a mental image he wants to get rid of in a hurry, especially now that he knows exactly how Iris looks as she comes apart under his hands. He just wishes he wasn’t thinking about it at _dinner_.

Wally and Jesse decide that they want to play board games before dessert is served, roping in an enthusiastic Cisco and reluctant Caitlin. Barry glances quickly at Iris but she just raises her brows at him before declaring that she’d be delighted to play. She plops down on the couch, patting the seat next to her and saying, “Bear, come here, let’s show these punks how it’s done.”

He sinks down next to her, slightly suspicious, as the rest of them argue about what game to play. Joe and Harry are also pulled in, much to the latter’s bemusement. “Do y’all have Uno on your Earth?” Wally asks, and Jesse shakes her head.

“Ooh,” Cisco says, “Uno, I don’t know, man. Families have been ripped apart over Draw Four.”

“Sounds fun,” Jesse says, eyes shining.

Wally and Cisco start recounting the rules but after about ten seconds it becomes clear that they’ve forgotten most of them, so Caitlin hauls out the instructions and explains. Barry can’t really concentrate, since Iris has decided to casually lay an arm behind him on the couch, which allows the side of her breast to come in direct, distracting contact with his own shoulder. He shoots a glance at her but she seems not to notice, her attention fixed on Caitlin. Well, if _that’s_ how she wants to play it, Barry thinks, and settles in for the long haul.

They’ve always been the type of friends who are physically affectionate with each other, so it’s not out of character for him to lean more fully into her side, or for her to place a playful hand on his thigh. Nudging each other with knees and feet and elbows is also perfectly normal, as is the way she hides her face in his neck in mock dismay after someone throws down a particularly vicious card. Barry absently playing with the ends of her hair might be a little out of the way for them, but Joe is the only one who gives them a thoughtful look before turning back to the game.

Barry basically has a phD in being able to handle the casual, friendly touches that Iris has been imparting for their entire lives; before, he was normally never more affected by it than anything else that came with being in her presence. But there’s a new fission to their interactions this evening, underscored by the memory of what they’d done together just hours before. It’s the first time he’s been around this Iris, _his_ Iris, after she has acknowledged the truth of her own desire and her own feelings for him, and his nerve endings are alive with the potential their future holds. Now, every touch, every glance is a promise, one that winds his lust tighter and tighter until, like a wire stretched too far, it will surely break his control.

Luckily for him, part of the fun tonight is seeing how far gone he can drive _her_ as well.

*

Iris had known she was courting trouble ever since the heated look Barry had sent her as they’d sat down to dinner, and yet she’d gone ahead and done it anyway. Letting her hands linger on his thighs or across his chest, brushing against him at every chance, whispering in his ear and allowing her breath to caress over his ear and down his neck. Nothing she does is outside the bounds of propriety, but the very fact that they’re sitting in a roomful of completely oblivious people only adds to the delicious tension that curls through her body.

Well, maybe not so oblivious. “Joe’s watching us,” Barry says to her at one point, his voice pitched low for her ears only. Her eyes dart involuntarily to her father, seated in the corner; he raises a brow at her inquiringly and she flushes, drawing slightly away from Barry.

“Coward,” he says and she pinches his side, drawing a muffled yelp. Joe rolls his eyes at them both and pointedly turns away, taking a long gulp of beer. Barry shifts on the couch in a way that seems casual but is designed to bring her back to his side, as though simple gravity pulled her back into him, and they continue to covertly tease each other.

The game finally draws to a close after what seems like hours, but in actually is probably only another ten minutes. Wally returns to an argument from dinner about an engine design, which draws Harry, Jesse, and Cisco in, while Joe disappears into the kitchen to finish assembling the dessert and Caitlin volunteers to help. Iris is about to stand, prepared to go after them, when Barry breathes, “Meet me upstairs in two minutes.” When she glances at him, he’s sliding into the engine debate, looking totally engaged.

Iris makes it into the kitchen, where she pulls out a serving platter for Caitlin and finds some extra bowls and then says, “Gonna run to the bathroom, be right back.” She leaves again before she can meet her father’s eyes.

She’s stepping into Barry’s bedroom when someone _pssts_ at her from the direction of the bathroom. Barry’s there, gesturing her in. “What…?”

“Don’t want Joe or Wally to come up here and find my door closed,” he says, pulling her in and locking the door. “The bathroom door’s less suspicious.”

“It’s also the _bathroom_ ,” she says, but Barry’s already maneuvering her against the counter, his mouth descending on hers, so Iris decides she doesn’t care that much in the grand scheme of things.

She’d spent the last half hour in a state of muted arousal and in all fairness probably could have come from just his hands on her body and the pressure of his thigh between her legs alone. However, he’s clearly got another idea in mind as he unbuttons her jeans for the second time that day.

“I’m not…sure..this is a good idea,” Iris manages to gasp out between kisses. Barry nips her bottom lip and says, “Trust me, it’s a _great_ idea,” and then drops to his knees, pulling her jeans and her underwear down with him.

“Oh, god,” Iris says.

His answering grin is like nothing she’s ever seen from him before, wolfish and anticipatory. "I've been thinking about this for the last two hours," he says, his voice gravelly with desire. Then he leans forward, putting his mouth on her, and she lets out an involuntary gasp and leans back against the counter.

The angle isn’t ideal, and her legs are caught in her jeans but she still shivers as his tongue strokes along her, searching out her clit and swirling around before darting down to flick at her entrance. Iris inhales, gripping the edge of the counter in both hands, trying to widen her legs to give him more room. His left hand travels up her bare thigh to curl around her hip, and his right hand kneads her ass, his long fingers sliding around to tease her from behind.

“I can’t move,” she says, “my legs—”

He licks firmly, once, twice, and she spasms again, before drawing back and helping her disentangle one leg from her clothes. Then he settles even closer, hitching her on top of the the counter and bringing her leg up over his shoulder. He flicks a glance up at her, grins again, and says, “ _Hold on_.”

Iris has never actually used a vibrator herself, but she remembers her college roommate explaining what it was like. His tongue continues stroking along the length of her, flatly and languorous, before dipping inside and the vibrations travel through her skin to nerve endings she didn’t even know she had. One of his thumbs starts circling her clit, and then he changes positions, moving his mouth up to fasten over her clit and slipping a finger up inside of her, also vibrating. He begins to suck, firmly, while his finger strokes in and out.

She ends up having to brace one hand on the mirror behind her and takes hold of his head with the other, anchoring him to her. Barry continues to work her body with his mouth and his hand, never letting up the unrelenting pressure. His eyes flick up her body, watching her reactions, judging how his movements affect her. Iris starts to shake, her hips bucking involuntarily against his mouth and he holds her firmly against him, driving her higher and higher. “Oh god, oh god,” she says, over and over, and then her vision goes unfocused and there’s nothing but his lips and his tongue and his hands and the vibrations echoing out from her center so that she’s no longer sure whether they originate from him or from her orgasm, catching her tight in its grip and then shattering her into pieces.

Like before, she collapses when it’s over and would have fallen if not for Barry, holding her steady against him as they sink to the floor.

“Uhhh,” she says when she finally has her voice back. Barry wipes a hand across his mouth, leaning back against the wall and grinning at her. “That was…wow.”

Barry smoothes some of her hair back out of her face. “As much as I’d like nothing better than to stay here with you, we’d better get back downstairs before we’re missed.”

“Right,” Iris says, still a bit unsteady. “Um, you go ahead. I need…another minute. Or five.”

He laughs and stands, looking down at her. Iris is conscious of her general disordered state, half undressed and slightly damp in certain unfortunate places. But then Barry says, “God, you’re gorgeous,” his tone strangely wistful, and she feels her embarrassment melting away in the face of his feelings for her.

“Oh, what about you?” she says as he unlocks the door. “We haven’t—I mean, you haven’t…” She gestures somewhat awkwardly at his lower body.

Barry turns back to her and kneels swiftly, giving her a smacking kiss on the lips. “Don’t worry about me,” he says. “Like I said before, I’ve thought about…about doing _that_ with you for years. When it happens, I want to be able to take my time. And also,” he adds, standing, “I don’t want us to be in a freaking bathroom. Or a closet.”

Her laughter follows him out into the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? "Vibrating tongues" is not a well-known trope? Tell that to Flash fandom.


	10. The Harry Potter AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I actually don’t mind Julian’s bitchy ass, but my enjoyment of him increased 150% once I started pretending that he’s actually Draco Malfoy in hiding, post Deathly Hallows. And then I watched 3x05 and this happened. (I can’t pretend that this makes any sense with respect to either canon, but heeeyyyy we’re all here to have fun, right???)

When metahumans first started appearing in Central City, the first thing Julian had checked was whether or not they were actually magical. It’d been years since he’d last moved in the wizarding world; he’d been studiously avoiding running into anyone, even in America, who might know of his family, of the role they’d (he’d) played in the war. So it was almost distressing, how easily he was able to slip back through the cracks dividing the Muggle world and his old world, how easily he assumed the mantle of a wizard once more.

He didn’t use his real name, of course. He wasn’t completely dense.

He hadn’t been entirely truthful with Allen, when they’d talked. Allen had assumed that Julian was jealous, that he wished he had been given _special abilities_. Julian knew all about having special abilities. He also knew very well what it meant to be a _chosen one_. He knew the sacrifices that it demanded, knew how easy it would be to use power for ill instead of good.

He had no interest in using magic, ever again; he didn’t trust himself not to make the wrong choices. But through science, maybe Julian could make something of himself, maybe become someone worthy of the world he lived in and of the second chances he’d been given.

As it turned out, the wizarding community in the Midwest was just as baffled as he was. Metahumans were not Muggles, but they definitely weren’t magic, either, at least not in any sense he was familiar with.

So. This was something else. Something new. Something that magic couldn’t control. And if _magic_ couldn’t be a check to metahuman abilities, what could?

He knew from the very get-go that he wasn’t treating Allen fairly. It wasn’t _Allen’s_ fault that people treated him with a leniency that drove Julian batty, for reasons the guy had no way of knowing. And Allen seemed far too unreliable and, frankly, unremarkable, to merit comparisons with any of the Golden Trio, not even Weasley.

The Flash reminded him of Potter, in some respects. The meta had Potter’s same reckless sense of invincibility, the same confidence that he could run into any situation and come out smelling like roses. Julian had to remind himself that Potter had been the hero, in the end. After the Flash prevented him from killing that boy, Julian felt the same sort of helpless, enraged gratitude: someone else had saved him, yet again, from getting blood on his hands. Any more blood, that was.

*

“Let’s grab a drink,” Allen said and Julian agreed, because he was _trying_ to be a better person, he really was, and again, none of this was Allen’s fault.

Also he’d found, after coming to America, that it was actually really hard to make friends as an adult, especially when you were also running from your past and had to make up elaborate lies about your upbringing. (Being English helped. It was amazing the ridiculous things Americans would believe about strange British customs that were actually strange _wizard_ customs.)

After about twenty minutes of him and Allen making awkward small talk, some of Allen’s friends showed up. Iris and Wally West he knew; they’d been in and out of the station often enough to visit Allen or Detective West. Julian still couldn’t believe that Iris would waste her time with someone like Allen, who was so clearly not in her league it wasn’t even funny, but that, also, was something he had seen before. He’d never met Ramon or Snow before, but they were both scientists so that was all right. Julian was a little startled at how quickly Ramon grasped the techniques he’d used to track down the source of the hologram—if _Allen_ had been this quick, they’d would have had far fewer problems from the get-go.

“I always wanted to go to boarding school,” Ramon said musingly, several shots later.

“Trust me, you didn’t,” Julian said, leaning back against the leather booth. Normally he never spoke of his schooling if he could help it but he’d never been able to handle tequila and the world had gone pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. “It’s nothing like in fiction.” Not technically a lie: he’d never seen a fictional boarding school that taught magic. The fact that a lot of the other details, like the claustrophobia, the tribalism, and the loneliness were usually spot on was not really the point.

Wally ducked out shortly after that, and the teasing remarks directed his way by his sister led Julian to conclude that the kid had a date. Dr. Snow left soon after, pleading exhaustion, and though Ramon, frowning, offered to see her home, she waved him off.

“Has Caitlin seemed a bit off to you lately?” Ramon asked, still frowning after her. Allen blinked, confused, but Iris replied, “Yeah, a little, but I wasn’t sure what was going on.”

“Huh,” Ramon said. He glanced quickly at Julian and then subsided into silence. He obviously wasn’t going to continue talking about whatever he thought was wrong with Snow in front of Julian, for which he could not be faulted. Julian understood loyalty. He said, “Did you read that disaster of a paper on nanotech _Scientific Journal_ published last month?”

“Oh my god,” Ramon said, perking up. “What a _mess_ …”

He didn’t actually give a fig about the paper; he’d just been looking for something else to talk about. Iris piped in occasionally, mostly to ask clarifying questions, but Julian was the most startled by Allen actually managing to contribute something to the conversation. Maybe, he thought, he’d judged Allen far too quickly. Maybe there actually was a brain in there, a good one.

After a certain period of time, Julian became aware that Allen hadn’t spoken in a while. He glanced over to see the other man watching Iris, who was laughing at something Ramon had said. The look on Allen’s face made Julian draw breath. In the years since he’d left home, he hadn’t allowed himself to get close enough to anyone to feel anything close to love, or even lust. He’d forgotten what it was like to want someone, to want to _belong_ to someone.

Allen leaned over and whispered something in Iris’s ear; her eyes widened and she bit her lip, glancing at him. He smirked back at her, raising his eyebrows. “Jesus,” Ramon said, pained. “Go home, you two.”

Allen shrugged at him unrepentantly as Iris sheepishly dug out some bills and tossed them on the table. “See you tomorrow,” Allen said to Julian and Ramon as he rose from the table and drew Iris away with him.

“I do _not_ understand how that happened,” Julian said, watching them leave arm in arm.

“It was a long and painfully winding road,” Ramon replied, finishing his beer. “Be glad you weren’t around for it.”

Julian poked his own empty glass with one finger. “Another?”

“What the hell,” said Ramon.

*

Later, Julian will think that nothing would’ve happened if he hadn’t been so drunk. But as it was, he was well and truly bladdered, stumbling down the street with Cisco and singing at the top of his lungs. Well, Cisco was singing; Julian had never been able to carry a tune. He screeched merrily along anyway, which eventually caused Cisco to collapse against a building, hiccuping with laughter.

The man appeared out of the darkness, out of nowhere. In one slow blink of an eye, he raised a gun at Cisco, opening his mouth to speak. Julian beat him to it.

Later, he’ll realize that the spell he used, _Expelliarmus_ , was one that Potter had consistently favored. He’ll wonder what that meant.

In the moment, though: The gun was blasted down the street and the man went flying backwards. Julian stared, his arm outstretched. He’d done wandless magic before, but as a child, before he’d gone to Hogwarts and gotten his wand, and never a spell this strong. He’d never before even considered it.

Cisco straightened up against the building he’d been leaning on, his eyes wide. “Uh…” he said. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

*

“So you’re _sure_ you’re not a meta?”

“For the thousandth time, no,” Julian said. They were in his apartment, which had fortunately only been about two blocks away. Cisco, who apparently _was_ a meta, had tried to do something he called “vibing” right after Julian had cast his spell. The resulting vision or whatever it was he’d seen had been so confounding he’d gone into temporary shock, which allowed Julian to guide him carefully home. He’d spent the trip periodically muttering things like “I don’t understand” and “Is this a movie?” the entire way home.

Julian had never had to explain the wizarding world to Muggles before; if Slytherin had allowed Muggle-borns back when he was at Hogwarts he might have done, but, well, that ship had sailed. The easiest thing to do, of course, would have been to simply take Cisco into the nearest wizarding town, but Julian didn’t think of _that_ until much later. It would have helped enormously if they weren’t still rather drunk.

He retrieved his wand from the lockbox stuffed in a high bedroom closet shelf and sat down at his tiny kitchen table across from Cisco. “Is that—that’s a wand, isn’t it?” Cisco said, reaching out. Julian flinched, moving the wand away, and then immediately felt like a wanker when Cisco’s face fell.

“I—sorry—force of habit,” he said.

“No, it’s okay,” Cisco replied valiantly. “Do you guys never allow other people to touch your, uh, your wand?” He giggled here, and then tried to school his face. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “I heard every single dirty wand joke by the time I was eleven,” he said. “But no, it’s not that. I just…I’m a little sensitive about other people and my wand.” Cisco tried and failed not to laugh. Julian rolled his eyes again. “Oh, carry on, then.”

After Cisco mostly regained control of himself, Julian said, “If you’re _quite_ finished…?” At Cisco’s vehement nod, he straightened, frowning. “Well, drunk magic never turns out exactly how you want it to, but here goes.” After a careful bit of concentration, he turned the water glass on the table into a perfect yellow rose.

Cisco dissolved into giggles once more. “You can do magic. You’re a _magician_. With a _magic wand_.” He raised shining eyes to Julian. “This is the best day _ever_.”

“The proper word is _wizard_ ,” Julian muttered, and felt a flash of amusement when Cisco laughed even harder. Then something genius occurred to him.

“D’you want to try firewhiskey?”

“What’s that?”

“Wizard alcohol,” Julian said, and Cisco’s face went incandescent with glee. “You’re joking. Please tell me—oh my god. Best. Day. _EVER_.”

*

At ten AM the next morning, Julian lifted his head up from his desk long enough to read the text he’d received from Cisco: _This is the worst day ever._

Allen, sitting across from him and looking obnoxiously perky and cheerful, said,“Heard you guys had a late one last night. Caitlin told me that Cisco’s thrown up twice already.”

“I’d like to throw you up,” Julian muttered, thumping his head back down into the welcoming crook of his arm.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Please don’t talk so loudly.”

“Hey, I can cover the lab today,” Allen said. “Go home. I’ll tell Singh you’re out running tests.”

“Tests,” Julian repeated.

“Yeah,” Allen said. “Seriously, go home.”

Julian thought about that for a minute, weighed the pros and cons of staying at his desk, which would require no movement on his part, versus going home, where his bed was located. Eventually he dragged himself out of his seat and stood up. Once he decided that he wasn’t going to throw up, he said to Allen, “Thanks. I…I appreciate it. And…thanks for introducing me to your friends, last night. It was fun. Although all evidence this morning points to the contrary.”

“Hey, no problem,” Allen said, waving him off. “I’m glad you had a good time. We should do it again sometime.”

“Aha,” Julian said. “I am never drinking again. I am going to be drier than the Sahara. We aren’t even going to use _ethanol_ in the lab anymore.”

“That doesn’t…” Allen began to say but Julian was already walking out of the room.

“Don’t have sex on my desk,” he shot over his shoulder, just as Detective West walked in. Allen started spluttering, something about how they didn’t—they would _never_ —but Julian was in too much pain to bother turning around and enjoying the spectacle. He _was_ going to make an effort to be nicer to Allen. He _would_. Tomorrow.

**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s unclear in canon if Draco ever gets his old wand back and I don’t know if you can get a replacement wand or not, but I’ve already done way too much research for a 2,000-word crackfic, soo.


	11. The "first time" trope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode tag for 3x09. Literally just porn. This is not "first-time" sex in the strictest sense, as I refuse to believe that Barry and Iris didn't consummate their shit, like, two days after they started dating, but we work with what we've got.

Barry runs his hands up Iris’s arms, pulling her coat off her shoulders, and she lets it fall down to the floor. One of the straps on her dress has dropped down as well and she makes to shrug it back up when he stops her, his mouth kicking up in an expression she’s come to know well. “Don’t bother,” he murmurs, flicking the other strap off.Her dress is too form-fitting to slide off, even with the dangling straps, but he doesn’t do anything more, instead ducking his head down to press a kiss to her collarbone before nosing up her neck towards her jaw.

“Bear,” Iris begins, and then her breath catches as he flicks his tongue out, licking the delicate skin under her jaw. His hands have migrated south, molding to her ass, and she can feel him beginning to harden against her belly.

“God, _Iris_ ,” he breathes, straightening to kiss her fully. She opens her mouth to him, letting him lick his way inside, and presses her body closer. He squeezes her ass with both hands and then lifts one to her hair, tilting her head slightly to allow him better access to her mouth. Iris slides her own hands inside his coat, slipping one up under his sweater and shirt to reach for the bare skin of his back underneath while hooking her other hand around his neck. He shivers at her touch, his tongue thrusting more urgently against her own, and starts to walk her backwards. Iris goes without question, more intent on kissing him than anything else, before working with him to get his own coat off. Then her back hits the lip of the counter, returning her awareness to herself.

Before Iris can react, Barry lifts her easily onto the counter as though she weighs nothing, and she’s struck anew at how far he’s come from the skinny kid who got beat up all the time in middle school. His time as the Flash has given him strength that preteen Barry wouldn’t ever have dreamed of. He’s stymied, however, by her dress, which is far too tight for him to step in between her legs as he so obviously intended to do. “I liked this dress a lot more thirty seconds ago,” he mutters, glaring down at the offending garment, and Iris laughs. “It’s not funny!” he protests, but he’s grinning up at her as he says it.

“Bear, I don’t know what you thought was gonna happen,” she says, smiling back at him.

“It wasn’t obvious?”

“What, here on the counter?” Iris asks, looking around. Barry shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know, I thought it could be fun.”

Iris frowns, eyeing the height difference between them. “I’m not sure, I think I’m too high up now?”

Barry purses his lips, considering, and then slides his hands up over her knees and her bare legs, pushing the dress up her thighs. “Bear!” Iris yelps, planting one hand on the counter behind her and the other on his shoulders to hold herself steady. “Shhh,” he says absently, still pushing the cloth up, “I’m trying to see if you’re right.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she says but faintly, because he’s just swept both of his thumbs across the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, perilously close to more interesting locations. The dress has been rucked up to the tops of her thighs, stretched almost uncomfortably tight, but she’s able to spread her legs now. Barry steps closer, his thumbs still brushing distractingly against her skin.

“I think you’re right,” he says conversationally as he slides one of his hands further up her legs, allowing his thumb to brush, whisper-soft, over her underwear. “I’m not sure the height difference will work here.” He rubs again, a bit more firmly, tracing over her center to flick against her clit. The friction between her skin, the material of her underwear, and his thumb is exquisite. Iris’s toes curl in her shoes as she focuses on the throbbing between her legs. “…What?” she says, a little breathlessly.

Barry grins at her again, clearly pleased at her distraction. “I’ll just have to think of something else to do,” he says and between her thighs Iris feels his hand start to vibrate. She can’t help the little moan that escapes her and his eyes darken in response even as his grin widens. He strokes his still-vibrating thumb against her clit in a circular motion, and Iris shudders, her legs falling open even wider. He brings his free hand up to the top of her dress and tugs it down, baring her breasts, and she leans back on her palms as he ducks his head to take one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the tip. He fondles her other breast in his free hand while below, he’s still vibrating between her legs, alternating between circling with his thumb and teasing her with the flat of his palm. Maddeningly, he hasn’t moved her underwear out of the way and she can feel the material getting soaked. Iris squirms against him, panting.

“So demanding,” he mutters against her skin, and Iris resists the urge to glare at him. “It’s so unfair,” she mumbles as she continues to squirm against his hand. “I don’t have any tricks like that to make you lose your mind.” She feels him chuckle and then he pulls away briefly to look at her. “Iris,” he replies, “did you look at yourself in the mirror today? This dress you’re wearing? You don’t _need_ to vibrate. All you need to do to make me lose my mind is walk into the room.”

“Hmm,” she says and sits forward, drawing her palm over the now-impressive bulge in his pants, which twitches at the contact. Barry nips the side of her breast in retaliation before finally hooking his fingers in her underwear. “Lift,” he says and she does, allowing him to pull her underwear down her legs. It gets stuck on one of her heels, of course, and she has to help him untangle it, giggling.

Before the mood is totally ruined, however, Barry drops to his knees on the floor in front of her. His head is just even with the countertop. “Thought so,” he says, satisfied, and pulls her to the very edge, ducking his shoulders underneath her thighs. “Oh, _god_ ,” Iris breathes, leaning her weight on one palm and threading her other hand through his hair. Barry smirks before settling his mouth on her, and Iris closes her eyes. She’s only too aware of the picture they make: her sprawled wantonly on the counter, her dress pulled down below her tits and her legs spread wide, and Barry on his knees before her, head buried between her thighs. Then he starts moving on her in earnest and all coherent thought flies from her mind.

Even without the addition of the vibrating tongue and face (!!), he’s incredibly good at this. So far, Iris hasn’t asked him just how exactly he acquired these skills (or, more to the point, from _whom_ ), but at the present moment she’s incredibly grateful. He licks along her center before laving the flat of his tongue against her clit, speeding up and slowing down in reaction to the strength of her own breathing. After a certain point, he adds a finger, and then another, slipping them inside her and vibrating along her g-spot in concert with his tongue. Her entire attention is taken up with the feeling of his fingers inside her and his tongue moving over her, pushing her closer and closer to the breaking point; it’s not long before she starts to shake.

He keeps his mouth on her relentlessly throughout her orgasm, wringing every last shudder from her body. Iris finally sags on the counter as he stands, wiping his mouth on his hand before gathering her close and kissing her fiercely. She can taste herself, slightly salty, on his tongue, and she pulls him closer, kissing him back. Then she unzips his pants and slips her hand inside, stroking, and he groans into her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he says after a moment, breathing hard as she continues to stroke his cock, which is gratifyingly hard. “We’re sure this counter won’t work?” Before she can reply, he’s picking her up and spinning around. Iris laughs as her back hits the nearest wall. “Have a condom in my pocket,” he gasps, shifting her weight to one arm while he digs in his pants. “This is ridiculous,” Iris says again, still laughing, but she takes it from him and rips it open with her teeth. She locks one arm around his neck as she uses her free hand to help him fumble it on and then line his cock up with her center. Then she wraps her legs around his hips, her head falling back as he nudges his way into her.

He exhales slowly once he’s slide all the way inside. “You feel…so incredible,” he says finally, his voice guttural. “God, you’re _amazing_.”

She’s never had sex in this position before and the angle he’s hitting is totally new. He thrusts deeply, hands clutching her ass, and she’s surprised to find herself shuddering once more; she hadn’t expected that she’d be able to come again. “Fuck, _Iris_ ,” Barry groans, his face pressed into her neck. He thrusts a few more times, fingers tightening as he comes, and then they’re both sinking down to the ground, still wrapped up in each other.

Barry kisses her forehead gently before carefully pulling out and flashing somewhere else in the apartment, presumably the bathroom to clean up. Iris straightens her dress, snagging her underwear off the floor and frowning at it. She doesn’t particularly want to put it back on again, so she stuffs it into her coat pocket. Barry comes back into the main room, looking a little sheepish.

“What?” Iris asks.

“I just…I had this mental image of our first time in our own place,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was gonna get lots of candles, put rose petals everywhere. Also there was, you know, an actual bed.”

“Speaking of,” Iris says, “I haven’t even _seen_ the bedroom yet. Or anything else, really. I trust there’s also a bathroom?” She laughs again when the flush on his face deepens.

“I’m sorry, Iris, I got carried away.”

She steps closer to him, trailing a finger down his chest and smiling up at him. “You can carry me away any time you like, Barry Allen.” It’s adorable, she thinks, how easily she can fluster him, especially considering how easily he’d turned her completely inside out, not twenty minutes earlier. “Now. Bear. Do you want to finish giving me the grand tour?”

“Yeah,” he says, holding out a hand to her. “I’d like that.”

“Oh, by the way,” Iris says as he starts to lead her out of the main room. “We’re gonna need to get blinds, like, _immediately_.”

**


	12. The one with the Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Is* this a trope? Probably not. Oh well. Minor spoilers for 3x10.

“By the way, what did you say to Dad, when you were distracting him?”

“One sec,” Iris said absently, one eye on the blender. The light pink (“We call it _guava_ ,” the saleslady had said) of the mini-KitchenAid stood out in contrast to the subdued tones of the rest of the loft, but Iris hadn’t cared when she bought it. The batter was almost mixed all the way through and the oven was already preheated, so she started greasing the brownie tin. After a moment, she turned the blender off, glancing up at her brother. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

Wally was sprawled on the sofa, nursing a beer and monopolizing their cable; Iris was fairly certain that he was the only person who ever bothered to use the sports package that Barry had been strongarmed into buying by a particularly ruthless sales rep. “You said something to Dad when I was busy stealing his files. Whatever you said looked like it was giving him heartburn.”

“You weren’t stealing, you were borrowing. Stealing implies that you didn’t return them,” Iris said, setting the greased pan down on the counter. She pulled out a spatula and started to remove excess batter from the mixer.

“Sis.”

“It’s _possible_ he was led to believe that Barry and I were thinking about having kids,” she said, spooning the batter into the tin. “I pretended at the end that I was actually talking about getting him a pet, but, yeah.”

Wally sat up, brows raised. “No wonder he looked like he was gonna choke. You guys just moved in together.”

“To be honest, I’m sorta surprised he did jump to that conclusion. It’s not like either of us are in a hurry.”

“I mean,” he said, eyeing her, “you and Barry _are_ kind of intense about each other.” Iris decided to ignore this, flipping the oven open and sliding the tin inside. Wally took a thoughtful pull on his beer. “It’s funny, for such a competent guy, Dad is _really_ bad at handling that sort of thing.”

“He’s always been that way,” she said. “You should have seen his face the day I got my period. He could barely look me in the eye.”

Wally chuckled knowingly. The front door opened and Barry walked in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up. “Hey guys,” he said, coming into the kitchen and giving Iris a kiss on the cheek before surveying the mess she’d made. “Brownies again, huh?”

“If you wanted me to make something other than brownies, you shouldn’t have given me that brownie cookbook,” Iris pointed out.

“In hindsight, that was a poor choice,” he agreed, opening the fridge. “Wally, another?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Wally said. “Did Dad ever give you the _talk_?”

“What talk?” Barry said, screwing open his beer and settling against the counter. He _was_ technically in her way, but Iris didn’t mind having him close by.

“Sex talk,” she said, bumping him over with her hip so she could start washing out the mixing bowl. “And no, he didn’t. He got Grandma Esther to do it, which actually might have been worse, in the long run. She had some, um, _definite_ ideas.”

“Trust me,” Barry said, shuddering, “you lucked out.”

Iris turned to him in surprise. “Dad gave _you_ one?”

“Yeah,” Barry replied. “I honestly don’t know who came out of it more traumatized, him or me.”

“I never knew that,” Iris said. Barry smiled affectionately at her, brushing his fingertips along the ends of her hair. “Yeah, we were thirteen. Talking about sex with _you_ of all people was not exactly something I could have done at the time.” Iris smiled back at him, leaning into his hand.

“Uh…Do you want me to go?” Wally said, looking pained. Iris rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to her little brother. “Relax, we’re not gonna start making out in front of you.”

“Don’t act like you’ve never done it before,” Wally muttered.

Before Iris could respond, Barry asked quickly, “Did you ever get the talk?”

“Yeah, Francine gave it to me,” Wally replied. “I mean, I was probably too old for it, but she actually did a pretty good job. She was good at that sort of thing.” Beside him, Barry felt Iris stiffen slightly and he rubbed her back reassuringly. He knew it was hard for her to hear stories about Francine, about the type of mother she’d been. Iris would never begrudge Wally anything relating to their mother; she wasn’t the type of person to resent him for something that was so clearly out of his control. But Barry knew that it tore at her, wondering how her own life might have gone if she’d had her mother around. He knew how that felt.

“You know, I’m kinda surprised Dad didn’t object to you guys moving in together,” Wally said, oblivious, “considering you’re not married.”

Iris made a face. “He’s not _that_ old-fashioned.” She looked like she was going to say more, but a beep from her phone diverted her. “Oh, sorry guys, I need to answer this,” she said, picking the phone up and wandering to the other end of the loft, typing furiously.

Wally leaned forward, eyes on Barry. “You asked him, didn’t you? Before you showed Iris this place.”

Barry shrugged self-consciously. “ _Ask_ isn’t exactly right. But I did give him a heads-up.”

“Speaking of _old-fashioned_ ,” Wally said.

“I mean,” Barry replied, “he wasn’t surprised or anything. He’s known how I feel about Iris for a long time. He knows it’s serious.”

“The entire _world_ knows it’s serious,” Wally muttered, not unkindly.

“Just you wait,” Barry waved a hand at Wally. “Some day you’re gonna be head-over-heels for someone and you won’t be able to judge.”

“Nah,” Wally scoffed. “Kid Flash is just getting started. I’m not in any hurry.”

“You know you’re not allowed to reveal your secret identity just to impress girls.”

Wally shot Barry a deeply unamused look. “C’mon.”

“Just checking,” Barry said mildly.

“Don’t tell me you never wanted to show off to Iris, before she knew who the Flash was,” Wally returned and then grinned as Barry shifted uncomfortably against the counter. “That was…different.”

“Suuure,” Wally murmured as Iris returned to the kitchen.

“What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” Barry and Wally said at the same time. Iris looked between them both suspiciously but said only, “Wally, are you staying for dinner?”

“Dad’s making lasagna,” he said, getting off the couch. “You guys wanna join? You know he always makes enough to feed the neighborhood.”

Iris frowned in the direction of the oven. “I’ve gotta wait for these to be done. Maybe I’ll send Barry over for leftovers.”

“Oh, is that all I’m good for?” Barry asked, sliding closer to her. “Fetching food?”

“You’re occasionally useful for other things,” Iris replied, smirking back at him.

“Aaaand I’m out,” Wally announced. “You guys are ridiculous.” He flashed out of the apartment before either of them could respond.

“Good riddance,” Iris said, grinning after her brother. Barry didn’t bother looking around, his attention still focused on Iris. “When will your brownies be done?”

She raised her brows at his tone. “Another twenty, twenty-five minutes? But I should _really_ clean up the kitchen first—” She laughed as Barry zoomed around, strands of her hair lifting up in the breeze he created. “You really _are_ useful to have around,” she said, still laughing as he lifted her up and carried her into the bedroom.

“Let me show you how useful I can be,” said Barry.

**


End file.
